In the Business of Miracles
by citigirl13
Summary: A little Christmas gift to all CS shippers. Hook tries to get Emma to remember her previous life - and him - but someone else manages it in a way no of them would expect.


**Did anyone else LOVE the season final? In truth I'm not sure how I feel about the fact Storybrooke doesn't exist anymore. I will miss it, and I think that's going to take the show in a whole new direction. **

**But I LOVED the tension, and all through it I was on the edge of my seat. And Hook and Emma? Brilliant. I loved their scenes (even though there weren't enough of them) and Hook showing up at Emma's door, with that grin on his face? So sweet. Personally I think they are endgame. Only Hook would travel worlds to find Emma.**

**WARNING: This story is filled with smut and cheesiness. In truth I'm sure if I'm pleased with it. But this is a Christmas present to all the Captain Swan shippers. I hope you all enjoy it and have a wonderful day.**

**MERRY XMAS! **

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**DISCLAIMER:**** I do NOT own Once Upon A Time or any of the characters.**

* * *

**In the Business of Miracles **

"Mom, look!"

"Hang on," Emma mutters. Maths has never been a strong point of hers, and she wants to give the hot dog vender the correct change. Henry has just finished school and as a treat they have gone to get some food. It's almost Christmas so the street is packed with shoppers trying to find the perfect present for their loved ones.

When she finally gives the man the correct change she turns around, holding the hot dogs in her hand to find that Henry has left her side. She curses, causing an old woman with an umbrella to give her a dirty look. Her eyes scan the area hastily until she finally recognises the striped scarf that Henry wears. Her heart sinks when she realises he is talking to that – that man.

Okay, fine _– pirate_.

She doesn't know how else to describe him. Well she could call him a scruff, but that's too vague. The pirate is sitting on a bench, talking to her son. The pirate had been hanging around all week. At first he continued to lurk outside their door until she called the police (and since she was a private detective, she knew quite a few officers) but for some reason she found him on their street the next day. Furiously Emma rang up the police demanding to know why he had been released, but they told her that they couldn't find anyone under the name (Killian Jones. Captain Killian Jones. This man was clearly insane) and his fingerprints weren't in the system. Emma demanded to know why he had been released, but the policeman said that they simply couldn't hold him. His voice sounded almost dream-like when he said that, and Emma reckoned he was a little round the twist himself.

The point is that the pirate had been stalking them all week. Emma should feel scared by the fact he is following them – and she is, really. Funny though, that she isn't really afraid of _him _exactly. As if she knows he won't hurt them...

Well, he hasn't exactly been violent. Emma couldn't avoid him speaking to Henry when they met in the hall, and his son had been fascinated when he found at the man was a pirate.

"He's not a pirate," Emma had said once they had closed the door on him. "Don't encourage him."

But her son's imagination had always been over-active, and he went on speculating about all the adventures the pirate must have been on. And now, of course, her son was now desperately questioning him about his life.

Emma swiftly approaches the two of them. "Henry!" she barks. Her son glances round, his eyes flashing a little with guilt. The pirate grins at her and Emma finds herself gritting her teeth.

"What did I tell you?" she scolds, handing him his hot dog so she can take hold of him with her free hand.

The pirate stands. "No need to blame him love. The lad was just asking me about my time in Neverland."

Emma stares at him, feeling her anger beginning to boil. "Henry, why don't you go to the toy shop? I'll meet you there." She musters a smile for him. "Why don't you go see Santa?"

Henry rolls his eyes. "Nice try Mom. I'm twelve. I know Santa's not real."

Emma doesn't question why he believes this man is a pirate and yet Santa Clause can't be real. She just shoots him her best stern-mom look, and Henry takes off with impressive speed.

Once she is certain Henry is out of ear-shot she turns on the pirate. "Look," she says, "I get that you have some problems in your life and I'm sorry about that, but don't you _dare _approach my son again."

"Calm down love," he says with a smile that Emma wants to wipe off his face. Why is he always grinning like that? "Henry's a good lad. And in case you've forgotten, he came to me."

Emma glowers at him. "Just leave me and my son alone," she warns him.

He absolutely ignores this statement. "Swan, I wanted to ask you something."

She is already walking away from him. She hopes that he will take the hint but she can hear his footsteps behind her. "Jeez love, slow down. I just wanted to ask you something – it's about what you said."

"Oh yeah?" Giving in, she turns round. "Something not registering in your brain?"

"Everything about you registers," says the pirate, flashing her another grin with raised eyebrows this time. "What did you mean by Santa?"

Of all the questions that Emma had anticipated, this wasn't one of them. "Are you being serious?" she asks.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asks. When she still stares at him he sighs. "Swan, this would be a whole lot easier if you would just believe me."

At this she snorts. "You say that we've met before and my family is in danger. Yet I think I would remember meeting you dressed like that, and the only family I have is my son. How stupid do you think I am?"

"I've never doubted your brains Swan," he says. His blue eyes are utterly serious, and the smile is finally off his face. "It's your ability to believe that I worry about."

This doesn't make sense. "What do you want?" she asks, feeling frustration rising.

"I want you to remember me. I want you to _believe_."

"How can I when I don't even trust you?" she asks. "You haven't even told me your name."

"I have love. My name is Killian Jones."

"Captain Killian Jones I hear. And just what are you captain of?"

"My ship the Jolly Roger."

She smiles sarcastically. "The Jolly Roger? Seriously? You couldn't have come up with something better than that."

"Watch it Swan. I may be a gentleman but no one insults my ship." He watches her face for some sign of recognition. "Maybe I should try another name. When we were familiar, you used to call me Hook."

"Hook?" Automatically Emma glances down at the hook instead of his hand. It's obvious just some cheap toy; after all, he dresses up as a pirate, and many people would choose hooks to complete their costume. But her brain slowly registers the words and she says, "Captain Hook?" _Neverland._

His grin is so wide it could not fit his face. "See, you do remember."

She quickly catches herself and snorts at his words. "Hardly. You've stolen a name from a fairytale. I remember that story, but I'm not remembering you."

"What would make you believe me?" he asks.

"How about someone else confirming your story?" she challenges. "If my family are in danger, why aren't they here? Surely they would be able to explain better than you could?"

"Perhaps," Hook admits, "but they can't. They are in terrible danger Emma, so great that they could not come here to get you themselves. I managed to slip by because I was off their radar. Your parents need your help."

"What kind of danger?"

"I'm not going to bother explaining it to you until you believe me, otherwise you'll think I'm insane."

"Too late," mutters Emma.

Hook sighs. Prince Charming was right; Emma isn't going to believe him on faith alone. He tries to think of some way to convince her. "I came here using the ferry. New York City Tour I believe it was. The man who owned it – I told him all of this. His name is Reed. If I had an ulterior motive, why would I tell him this story?"

"Maybe because you needed an alibi. I don't know why crazy people do crazy things. Now I am getting my son. Don't contact me again." She turns on her heel and walks away, not looking back.

Even if a little part of her wanted to.

* * *

She is crazy. She must be. Even though she knows that the pirate man Hook (she is _not _calling him Captain, and for some reason the name Hook seems natural) must be lying, she calls up the people on the New York City Tour ferries. She asks about a man called Reed. Time and time again she is told that they do not know anyone by that name. She berates herself for being so foolish to get this far, yet she makes another call. She wonders if a small part of her wants to believe him. After all, wouldn't it be nice to believe that her parents were somewhere out there, missing her as much as she wished for them.

And then, to her surprise, she finds him on Christmas Eve.

"Yeah, I'm Reed. Tamara Reed," a girl hollers above the noise of the pouring rain (should be snow, but it's too warm for this time of year). "What do you want?"

Emma is flustered. _Of course it would be a woman he's talking to. Typical_. She thinks it and then can't understand why. How does she know he's a womanizer? But then, he has hair as dark as ebony and eyes as blue as the deep sea. Some women would find that attractive, she supposes.

"Actually," she says, "I was looking for a man. A Mr. Reed perhaps? I wanted to talk about someone he met. Someone who works on the boat too."

"You mean my pa? Yeah, he comes on the ship with me. Why?" She suddenly sounds suspicious. "Did he do something?"

"No," Emma says hurriedly, "I just wanted to see if he had any information about someone."

Tamara tells her which boat they work on and Emma meets them. Tamara serves the food on the boat for hungry people and she's pretty busy, but she points her father out. Mr. Reed is sitting at the side, watching the dark waves. It's pretty dark, with the clouds looking like with one small touch they would explode with rain.

Emma approaches him. "Are you Mr. Reed?"

The old man's face breaks into a grin. "Hello lovely," he says. "My guess is you're Emma Swan?"

Emma smiles back at him, unable to not respond at the man's smiling face. He is the sort of old man that you want to adopt because he just seems such a happy, optimistic person. "Good guess," she replies, sitting down.

"Not really," he answers. "Not many people want a tour of New York on Christmas Eve. I know you have a few questions for me, but first I need to know what type of person you are."

Emma is surprised. If it were anyone else in the world she would be suspicious, but this man seems so thrilled to have someone to talk to that she can hardly say no. She watches as he takes out four cards, laying them flat on the table so she can see: the Queen of Spades, the Queen of Clubs, the Queen of Diamonds and the Queen of Hearts.

"I'm going to shuffle these," he tells her, "and you will pick the one that relates to you."

"So if I pick the Queen of Diamonds, I'll be rich?" she asks.

Mr. Reed grins toothlessly at her. "Something like that." He turns the cards over and begins to mix them round. His hands are faster than she expected; she had assumed she would be able to follow them, but she's already lost which one is which.

She takes a stab, picking the middle left one. The old man flips it open and beams at her choice. "Well done Miss Swan – you found the best card of them all."

"If you say so. So have I passed your test?"

Still beaming, he nods. "Ask away."

This is more like it. Emma leans forward, her mind already turning into detective mode. "This past week did you happen to meet a man called Killian Jones?"

"Killian Jones?" Mr. Reed's brow furrows a little. He hums as he thinks. "Can't say I've heard of that name."

So he_ was _lying. She is filled with so much disappointment that she leans back against the chair, overcome with it. She doesn't know why she is so gutted by the fact he was lying; how the hell could he be telling the truth? Perhaps a small part of her wanted it to be true. Perhaps a small part of her wanted to find her parents.

"Thanks for your time," Emma begins, but the old man is talking again.

"Now I did meet an interesting guy the other day. Good soul. He went by a strange name – called himself Captain Hook."

Emma freezes in her seat. "Captain Hook?" she whispers.

Mr. Reed nods. "Yep. Like I said, strange. But he was a good man. Said he was on some mission."

She feels herself leaning forward. "Did he say what?" she asks.

Mr. Reed frowns. "I don't know whether I should be telling you this; I think the man had been drinking a little too much rum if you catch my drift. But you seem like the good sort, so I guess I can tell you." He leans forward too, and they look like old friends sharing secrets. "He said he was looking for a woman."

"A woman?" Her breath catches in her throat, burning in her chest.

"And her son. Said he had been searching for her for weeks, trying to find her. He said that she needs to help her family."

Emma feels her throat swell up. He could still be lying, telling this poor man a tall tale to give him some resemblance of an alibi. But what if he wasn't?

What if it was true?

Mr. Reed reaches forward, pats her hand. "You're a lucky girl."

Emma withdraws as if he has slapped her. "What?"

"I know true love when I see it. I was married once." His brown eyes go dreamy, and for a moment Emma is hollowed out by jealously. "He has been looking for you for weeks. Not many people do that unless they really love the person they're looking for."

Emma shakes her head. "You're mistaken. He's – I've met him before. I – I don't like him."

He is still smiling at her, but now she doesn't find it so warming. "You might not be ready. That's okay. But one day you'll find each other. Isn't there a saying? 'If you love them and they love you, they will always find you'?"

The words seem to hit Emma straight in the gut. She shoves away from the table and rushes away from the old man. She needs to think. She needs to breathe.

"What was that about?" Tamara asks, giving her father a mug of hot chocolate.

Mr. Reed smiles. "Nothing to worry about honey."

His daughter narrows her eyes at him. "Uh huh. Okay, but don't go getting yourself into other people's business, okay dad?"

Mr. Reed watches his daughter go, still with a smile on his face. It would all work out. He knew this, not because of any physic ability, but because she had picked the Queen of Hearts. He also knew that the two of them would end up together. Captain Hook had picked the King of Hearts.

* * *

It is Christmas Eve. She and Henry are baking cookies, a tradition on Christmas Eve. Then they'll watch a film. Their Christmas film has only one rule: it cannot be about Christmas, or set around Christmas time. To that end, Henry usually picks animated ones. Last year was _Up. _Emma wishes they could watch it again this year. Thanks to their pirate stalker, Henry had chosen _Peter Pan. _

"Hey Mom," Henry calls, peering out the windows. "Hook's outside!"

Emma approaches the window and sure enough she sees the man standing out on the street. She feels a stab of pity; no one should be alone on Christmas.

"We should ask him to come up!" Henry's face glows with delight. "He would like to watch it, I'm sure."

Emma's mind whirls. "I'll go ask him. He might have plans." She grabs her coat and rushes out. It's gotten a lot colder since this morning, and Emma thinks it might actually snow. She's always liked snow: it makes her feel comforted, like no matter what happens in the world she will always be safe. She doesn't know why she's so fond of it. After all it's such a pain when you're trying to get somewhere and the roads are backed up.

Hook is waiting for her. He doesn't say anything, even when they are right opposite each other. She's surprised she recognised him. He's dressed in a plain blue button up shirt and jeans. He's still wearing his long leather coat/jacket though, which is probably how Henry spotted him.

"You look different." _You look good._

Hook shrugs. "I thought it would be best to remain inconspicuous."

Emma nods. "I met Mr. Reed."

"And?" he asks. His face is suddenly so hopeful that it almost breaks her. He has a smile on his face that has no calculation behind it. It reminds her of Henry's smile, that special brand that is reserved just for her.

"Is it true?" She looks down at the snow falling on her feet. "Have you been looking for me for weeks?"

There is a pause and she can imagine him smiling at her softly. "In truth I am not sure how long I've been looking for you."

She jerks her head up at that. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Make it sound so..." She can't bear to say _romantic_. "...so cheesy. I don't_ know _you."

"I know." He sounds so hopeless then that Emma feels another stab of pity that she doesn't want to feel. "I wish I knew how to make you remember Emma. Unless..." He glances at her uncertainly.

"Unless?"

He struggles with his words. "Unless you let me kiss you again," he finally gets out.

"_No_." At his hurt look she quickly amends, "I don't know you, I told you. And I'm not about to let you make out with me just because you think it'll make me remember you. If your kiss was that great, I would remember. This isn't a fairytale for God's sake. This is real life."

"It seems so." He looks at her. Not stares or gazes or leers but just looks, and for some reason Emma feels like she wants to cry. "I'm sorry Swan. I'm not enough. Your father warned me that it would be harder than I thought, but even he..." Hook shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "But I won't give up Swan. I have faith that one day you will remember me, and remember your real life." He reaches out and puts a hand on her face. She doesn't move away from him. "I'll wait Emma. I'll always wait."

She watches him walk away. When she turns away she realises that her face is wet. This feels wrong. She feels like she is making a mistake and she should be racing back to him. But it's crazy. He isn't anyone to her. He _shouldn't _be anyone to her.

So why does it feel like something is missing?

* * *

Christmas Day arrives and Emma is determined not to wallow, though she has been up the whole night tossing and turning. Christmas is all about the kids and she is going to make sure Henry enjoys himself. So she makes them two mugs of steaming hot chocolate with extra cream and cinnamon while Henry gazes round the tree. She has a few presents from work colleges and a hastily wrapped package from her son; Henry has at least a dozen. Emma likes to spoil her son, and it's not as if she has five brothers and sisters to get presents for.

"C'mon Mom," Henry whines.

Emma is adding the whipped cream. Half-turning she says, "Okay, you can open one – but only one and then you have to wait for me."

Henry knows exactly which present to open first. It's the one he's been desperate to tear apart, the one that is wrapped in shiny blue paper and is completely different from all the other presents under the tree. It's not just the different paper that makes the package enticing: it seems to have a certain shine to it, glimmering under the light; you can't seem to draw your eye away from them; and then there's what happened last night.

So Henry opens the present and it practically falls into his lap. It is a flat brown book, not quite small but not exactly large either. The words _Once Upon A Time_ glitter on the front cover. The cover is soft, made of an almost furry material.

He remembers.

It all comes back to him as if he's just woken up from a long sleep. Henry wants to explode with words, with feelings and urgency, but where on earth to begin? He turns to his mother but now of course he knows that she _can't _remember.

Unless she opens the present...

"Mom." Henry grabs the present hurries to the kitchen. His mom is still making the hot chocolate. "You have to open this present."

She glances over with a small smile. "Hold your horses kid, I'm almost done."

"No Mom, you need to open it now." Henry is calm but insistent. He pushes the present – so small that it could fit right in her hand – towards her. "Please."

Emma eyes him in slight suspicion but she reaches for the gift and tears the present open. It doesn't feel like anything at all, and only when she's pushed the paper away completely does she sees it: a black bit of material, like a torn piece of clothing. She takes it in her hand, looking at it in confusion.

_I don't need you to share. You're something of an open book. _

_Try something new, love. It's called trust. _

_You and I, we understand each other. _

One of the mugs falls to the floor. The hot chocolate burns her feet, but she barely notices.

_Perhaps I needed reminding that I could. _

_Actually I quite fancy you from time to time when you're not yelling at me. _

_Just who are you Swan? _

At exactly eight fifteen in the morning she remembers. All of it. All of _them_. Belle. Gold. Regina. Neal.

Her _mom_. Her _dad_.

But mostly, almost surprisingly, she remembers Hook. Every other memory is of him. The flashbacks flood her mind, overwhelming her. She cannot think. She's not sure if she can breathe. She is paralysed by the memories of him.

_Does that surprise you?_

_So when I win your heart Emma – and I will win it..._

_There's not a day that will go by that I won't think of you. _

"Oh God," she says weakly.

Henry's little face looks solemn. "I think that, right now, that's an understatement."

* * *

Not many people knock on Hook's hotel door. Only the people bringing him food (once he managed to figure out how to use the telephone. God what a palaver that was) come to see him. He knows it can't be them though because he hasn't ordered anything. He almost can't be bothered (the people in this world sure do make comfortable beds) but the person is quite persistent. Sighing he stands and goes to the door.

"You don't cover your tracks well. A monkey with a computer could find you."

The world seems to blur for a moment, and all he can see is her: those bright golden locks, those bright blue eyes, that smug grin when she's succeeded at something. She is just like before and he'll be damned if he looks away from her.

She steps forward, closing the door behind her. "I remember," she says simply.

Hook's eyes widen. "You remember – you know who I am Swan?"

She doesn't answer; instead she grabs hold of his clothing (he's only wearing a dressing gown) and kisses him. She takes him by surprise because for a few moments she just stands there; but then she feels his arm come behind her back, pulling her closer. It is almost exactly like there kiss on Neverland so long ago. It's better this time though. This time Hook is certain there is more than just lust.

"Merry Christmas Hook," she says when they finally break apart.

"How?" he whispers.

She smiles and reaches into his jacket pocket. "You said you weren't enough to make me remember, but when it came down to it, all I saw was you." She lifts the item of clothing out of his pocket, handing it to him. "Recognise this?"

He takes it from her, sliding it over the palm of his hand. "Of course I do," he says. When he looks at her he is completely serious. "This is what I used to bandage your hand, when we first met." He looks back at it again, as if mesmerized. "How did you get this?"

Emma's smile falters. "Wait. You didn't give it to me?"

* * *

Only two people would ever know where those presents came from. One of them was Henry.

_Henry can't sleep. He imagines tons of kids can't, on Christmas Eve. How many of them are sitting up, thinking of the presents they're going to get and the food they'll eat, the movies they'll watch and the fun with their family? He wants to sleep though, because that'll make Christmas Day come faster. With a sigh he gets up, deciding to get a glass of water. _

_The first thing he sees when he opens the door is a large man dressed in a red suit with white trimming, a white bread hiding most of his face. _

_He freezes. _

"_Well," the man smiles. His voice immediately reminds Henry of warm milk. "Seems I've been caught out. Think maybe I'm getting too old for this job." _

"_Santa?" Henry whispers, the words barely making it out of his throat. _

_The man laughs, and when he does his belly jiggles with him. "Correct son. Let me tell you, you're a very special boy. You're the first kid to see me since 1979. That little girl screamed so loud I had to make a fast exit. Between you and me, it's not that easy." He pats his stomach. _

"_But-" Henry can't believe this. "You're not real." _

_Santa Clause looks down at his shiny black boots, his red coat, his larger than average stomach. "That's strange," he says with the same sarcastic grin on his face that his mom sometimes wears. "I feel real." _

"_But – you can't be." _

_Santa Clause heaves his sack to the floor. "Why can't I be real?" _

_Henry's mind searches. It's not very easy with the man right in front of him. "Well, there's no proof that you exist." _

_The man smiles. "The old Henry used to know that you don't need proof to believe." _

"_The old me?" Henry asks. "You mean when I was younger?" _

_Santa Clause chuckles. "In a way. Now, I have some presents for you and your mother." He pulls out two brightly wrapped packages in shiny blue paper, placing them underneath the tree. "You must open them tomorrow morning. Best to keep with the tradition." _

"_But... How come people don't know you exist?" asks Henry. "When parents realise that a kid has more presents than they bought, surely they must figure out something..." _

_Santa Clause leans forward. "Let me tell you a secret Henry. Many people believe that I bring little children presents. In actual fact I am in a different business altogether. You could say I'm in the business of miracles. If a child, or even an adult, is in desperate need of a miracle, then I will give it to them. Besides, the most people I see usually keep my secret. In fact Winston Churchill would wait up for me every night. Nice man," he says wistfully._

_Henry is a smart boy, so he is managing to keep up. "But what sort of miracle do my mom and I need?" _

_Santa Clause stands tall, heaving the sack on his back again. "You will realise it soon enough Henry. I, after all, provide only a few types of miracles. Courage, wit and true love will have to do the rest."_

He would never tell Hook or Emma the truth. People said Christmas was for the kids, but this time it would be for the adults too.

* * *

**Hours to make. Seconds to comment. **

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